Pages

Poems

Was it really only two weeks and three days
That you were gone and I was left bereft
Of all home comforts?

Abandoned in what I would not describe
As a 'pet haven', although I'm told that's what it's called.

Where was the comfy lap
On which to cuddle of an evening?
I barked (and barked) but no-one paid attention
(The other dogs were barking too).

Let me assure you,
A pad in a concrete kennel
Is no substitute
For a shared double bed (with goose down quilt).
And it's hard to sleep at night,
Unbolstered by the warm bulk of a human leg.

On too short walks with unfamiliar pups,
I yearned for Duthie Park.
For favourite trees, park benches, monuments,
For all my friends.

***

Did you miss me too?
My eager little fuzzy face,
And the endearing way my ears flap
As I trot daintily along
On my more compact than average paws?

You did?

Ode to So-called Spring

Really? Winter's over?
Please present your evidence!
The London-centric media may declare it so,
And talk of balmy days, but we have snow
On higher ground.
The case that Scotland is another country
Climate-wise at least, makes sense.

I’ll grant you, for the pre-work park walk
My collar-light’s required no more.
And by midday my square dog shadow
(Should the shy sun grace us with a beam or two)
Is less elongated than before.

But down by the North Sea
(The clue is in the name)
A fierce onshore gale cruelly exposes
The folly of last week’s over-zealous grooming session.
Oh how I wish those furs were still attached,
All seven ounces of them…

It’s true, brash ranks of daffodils
Are now amassed on southern facing banks.
They breed ‘em tough at these high latitudes.
But as for me, tho’ born of Buchan stock,
I’ll keep my Fair Isle jumper on
Until my precious wiry fur’s regrowed.

An Ode to Blogging Friendships

I read about you almost every day.
From countless photographs I recognise
The angle of your tail when you feel joy;
The precise set of your anxious ears;
Your food-expectant head tilt.

Although you live a world away,
I’m confident that I could navigate
From your front door
Directly to your well-worn comfy bed, or better yet
Your kitchen where the treat jar sits.

Your daily routines, though different from mine,
Are quite familiar now to me.
There is more sunshine where you live (most probably).
But then my park, I think, has fewer rules than yours,
For dogs, that is.

For all the fun we share when life is sweet,
There are those other times
When you are injured, ill, or nameless terrors strike.
And then I yearn to help you, but
Feel at a loss.

We’re old friends, are we not (though never met)?
Our lives are now entangled, in
A precious world wide web of friendship,
An unanticipated bond.

A love poem dedicated to my sweetheart Addi, and inspired by the recent (11.2.2016) and thrilling announcement that gravity waves have finally been detected, a century after Albert Einstein first predicted their existence:

ALL OF A FLUTTERby Bouncing Bertie BoffinWhen I think of you Addi, so large yet so sweetMy heart starts a pounding. It will not behave In the regular way. So strong are its beatsI believe I've produced gravitational waves.These faint fluctuations will surely distortThe space-time continuum betwixt you and me.I know you will feel them; a lass of your sort Has the requisite fine sensitivity. In my mind I imagine old Einstein is smilingHis forecasts are all now proved right.And you dearest Addi, I find most beguiling; So massive, so dense and so white.

On Clearing Out Human Granny's House

Us dogs can always sense when something is amiss.

Our noses can detect
Change in the air, the end of things, and sadness.

A lifetime of cupboards, emptied, yield
Pile upon pile of holiday leaflets; medicines galore;
A Nottingham lace tablecloth,
Still faintly stained with raspberry jam;
Notes from every evening class ever attended,
(And there were many).

Did Human Grandad once throw away
An item he could mend?
I doubt it.
No saucepan handle in this house
Escaped his meticulous application of araldite.
Was ever a rusty bolt discarded
When it could be stored in a Gold Block tobacco tin
For future use?

Who uses now
A 'best' china tea set (non-dishwasher proof)?
What to do with table linen - napkins, cloths, mats -
Lace or embroidered, stiffly starched,
Untouched for half a century?

*****

A sudden moment of delight.
A wad of letters, unknown, unsuspected,
Found in an old folder.
Close-typed on tissue thin airmail paper,
Stamped RAF, Egypt, 1945,
From a fond father
To the teenager who became Human Granny.

*****

But why will the charity shop not take
The painted furniture?
Can it really be so dangerous?
Surely some poor soul would be glad of it?
I lick Gail's hand to compensate
For tears shed, as Human Uncle
Builds a funeral pyre of tables, desks, chairs,
Unwanted but for the memories.

Us dogs can always sense when something is amiss.

And then it was Autumn

A treat most unexpected,

But welcome as a bone,

A week of sun, blue skies, still air,

When summer should be gone.

It could not last, it felt

So undeserved. And yet

When normal service weatherwise

Resumed today, and wet,

Cool, blustery, and dour,

The world o'ernight transformed,

I thought it quite unfair,

And for the sunshine mourned.

Then Gail cried "Chin up Bertie,

Remember what they say,

There's no bad weather just bad clothes.

Put on your coat, and seize the day!"

A Protest Addressed to Gail

I don’t buy your line about ‘Quality Time’
I want it in quantity; I want it now!
Forget about work. Cut loose, go beserk,
Tell the boss you’ve a dog, who needs you, and how!

I want you to stay right beside me all day
On the sofa, the bed or the chair.
I can curl on your lap, maybe take a wee nap,
You can do what you like, I just want you here.

It doesn’t seem right that it’s only at night
We’re together. How cruel that you go
To the office at dawn, only late to return,
And bored I sit waiting and watching for you.

THAT SHORT PRECIOUS WHILE
You who live in sunny climes
Might think you have the best of times;
I beg to disagree.

If every day the skies are blue,
No clouds obscure the dazzling view,
There’s small variety.

You’ll never feel the deep delight,
When dour grey turns to dazzling bright
For a short precious while.

The sense that duties, cares and grief
Can be forgot. And to the beach,
To run and bounce and smile!
(Inspired by a sunny, if cold, trip to St Combs on Sunday 14th June, 2015)

ON RETURNING TO SCOTLAND FROM NOTTINGHAM
No more flatland Trent-side walks
On claggy floodplain clay.
I'm back amongst the heather'd hills
The bonnie banks and braes.

Enough of dismal redbrick towns
And concrete urban sprawl
For now. I'm home, a home that's built
Of silver granite walls.

Goodbye to triffid pylons marching
Over hedgeless fields and wastes.
Hello to birches, burns and bogs.
I'm back. This is my place.

A PLEA TO THE BADGERS OF CRAGMOOR ROAD
No need to prove it Mr Brock,
That you are strong is clear.
I see you rolled aside this rock
And dug under the hedge right here.

You black and white guys with the good PR,
'Wise Friend' to Ratty, Mole and Mister Toad,
Admired by wildlife lovers near and far,
Though not the folk who live on Cragmoor Road,

Have you a notion what distress
These night time raids cause? So much damage done
By scratching up the grass, as if
You sought first prize in excavation?

For decades my beloved HGD
Nurtured his back lawn with tender care.
Now Human Granny worries night and day
That his hard work is wasted, and despairs.

So Mister Badger I am begging you,
Go dig your worms on someone else’s lawn.
It is so sad. Dear Human Granny, who
Cared long and lovingly for HGD with all her strength,
Feels she has let him down now he is gone.

ADVICE FOR DUI: PUTTING THE SCOT INTO SCOTTIE
Your name is a good one, dear Dui my man,
And your human chose well with a simple Munro.
You could have been named Sgurr nan Ceathreamhnan,
Or Carn a' Coire Boidheach (shortened to Bo).

When you visit the vet to be vaccinated
You'll also be needing ID, like as not.
Just remember, a chip on both shoulders is said,
(By the English) to signal a well-balanced Scot.

And remember the kilt is traditional wear
For true Scottish males be they humans or dogs.
The lassies will think you so brave and so fair
When you're all fitted out in your best Highland togs.

But you might find it tricky, when Scotland's teams play
'Gainst Australia. You must choose which one you'll support.
(You'll find Scottish footballers have feet of clay,
Andy Murray means tennis is these days our sport.)

Our national dish haggis is affa scarce Down Under,
But it's worth searching out, I guarantee.
The meat is digestible; you will not 'chunder',
You'll love it, dear Dui, so try some for tea.

And lastly wee Dui, stay true to your breed type,
Yon Scottie dugs are couthy, braw and thrawn.
Just show those dingos what a well-bred pup's like;
They'll soon be wishing that they too were Scottish born.

It does not matter to me
That you sank down to rest on the sofa
Which Gail and I so often share.
I know it's hard for you these days
To remember which is your chair.

I'm told you used to be

A chemist, pilot, rugby player, boss.

That you did not really approve of dogs.

Now you struggle with the simplest task
But I have noticed how
When I pass by, your oft unfocussed eyes
Light up, and you reach down
And pat my back, and scratch my ears, and sometimes smile.
I'm told you always were a gentleman.
A gentle man, and as I snuggle close
I feel that gentleness, still.

Now climbing up the stairs to bed, for you
Is tougher than the steepest Northern peak.
Oh HGD if only I could speak
I'd tell you how clearly I can see
That you have formed the Gail I know and love
How the apple falls not far from the tree.

*HGD - Human Grandad, as you know.

MY 2011: BY BARD BERTIEThe year begins with shocking cold.

With long dark nights. The sun stays low.

The snow is deep, but in the home,

Soft laps, warm hearts and fires aglow.

*****

February’s time to celebrate,

And bake my birthday cake.

But Gail finds it hard to eat

My replica, such a mistake!

*****

In March a new experience,

A true test of my social skill.

A house party with fifteen guests,

For whom I finally sit still….

*****

So April is the cruellest month,
Old T.S. Eliot had it right.
How mean of Gail to leave me home,
And go with friends to France by bike!

*****

In May, in Britain, some were pleased

To cheer along our Wills and Kate.

Did you stay in and watch TV,

Or climb Munros to celebrate?

*****

The month of June, my chance to shine.

A village fete (Feis Alligin).

When I am jumping through the hoops

Those collies don’t get a look in!

*****

July and down to Nottingham

To visit Gail’s Mum and Dad.

We go by train, the passengers

Think I am such a bonny lad.

*****

Not everybody's quite so charmed.

In August Michael comes to stay.

I really did not mean to harm

Him but, bare legs? What can one say…?

*****

Month nine, it is my turn to show

My heartfelt patriotic zeal,

Go Scotland rugby team, go go!

Win the World Cup! Or not. Oh well.

*****

October comes. In Torridon,

I'm simply horrified to see,
The kayak, made by Florian
For Gail. BUT THERE'S NO SPACE FOR ME!

*****

Can you believe it? I cannot,

November saw this lovely chap,

Gail’s Dad, turn ninety, that’s a lot

Of years, (he often needs to nap).

*****

So here we are, year at an end,

It’s now the season of goodwill.

So bouncing love to all my friends
And may your lives be joyful still.

BERTIE'S CHRISTMAS POEM

I am not yet quite one year old,

So barely past a pup,

But I was ever brave and bold

While I was growing up.

I’m told that terriers can be

Quite naughty, when they choose.

Of course that can’t apply to me,

So please do not accuse

Me, I did never chew

That cashmere top, no way!

Nor did I ever steal Gail’s shoes

Not me, I only want to play.

At puppy class I bounced around,

And strived so hard to please,

But Daisy Dachshund, silly hound,

Kept trembling at the knees.

I learnt to sit, like, in a flash,

It’s easy if you try.

Of course I do prefer to dash

About. Why sit still? Why?

I know how sad Gail felt that night,

That dreadful night when Hamish died.

But even as he lost the fight,

New life was born. Through tears came smiles.

And now with Christmas drawing near,

We have a splendid tree,

And Gail’s face shows a look of fear

When I approach to pee…..

Oh it is very difficult

To keep these humans happy.

Maybe when I'm a true adult,

I’ll be a well-conducted chappie!

‘Til then I wish my friends good cheer

And ‘Slàinte Mhòr’ and ‘Toodle Pip!’

I hope you had a splendid year,

And through the next one gaily skip.

No comments:

About Me

Hi, I'm Bertie, a wire-haired fox terrier pup. I live with Gail in Aberdeen, Scotland. An old Westie called Hamish used to live here but he died on 18th February 2010 (exactly the same day I was born). People tell me that he used to have a blog and that I have big pawprints to fill. That's a bit too much responsibility for a very young puppy - and anyway, I intend to make my own mark!
(Gail says that Hamish could certainly have taught me a thing or two about marking stuff....)